And Into the Darkness I Fall
by smartjingle
Summary: Harry is committed to an insane asylum after the war and reminisces about his past; what he has lost and what he will never have again. Rated T just to be safe.


I am not crazy.

I write this line every day, as many times as I can, on the plastered walls, the concrete ground, etched by my dirty fingernails because they no longer let me use pencils or pens or anything that can be considered a weapon. I've written it so many times that the little marks everywhere look like textured grooves, and I, the centerpiece of my cage.

I'm considered a danger to myself, and to others, so they lock me up.

Funny how not so long ago, I was a hero. I was the one who vanquished the danger to others, and now, I am him.

This is not how I wanted it to end.

I always figured I would have a nice, normal life. A wife, two or three kids, a nice little house in the countryside where I can live a quiet, fulfilling life.

But whoever said nice guys finish last has got it right.

But, in my case, I didn't finish at all.

I've always wondered what would happen if that night had gone differently. If I hadn't tried to attain something I can never have. Like Icarus, I yearned, and I burned. Except instead of my physical flesh in flames, it is my mind, raging infernos inside its cage.

That is one thing I still have control over. The cage of my mind.

It's funny how when you are powerless, when there are no windows, no doors, only a small flap in which tasteless slop gets passed through twice a day; when I no longer remember the days of the week, or the year, or the shape of my face, the colour of my eyes; when I have no showered for days, when I have no longer any inclination to move or get up and pace, when I no longer think free thoughts; now, I relish any sort of control, even if it's over myself, over my own mind.

Before they used to send a Mindwizard in to talk to me, hoping I will open up and talk. He kept promising that they will let me out if I just told them the truth. I could have anything I wanted, money, fame, a career. They had the power to make anything happen, and all I had to do was provide information. I sat in silence, never a word.

Now they no longer do that. I don't remember the last time I had human contract, or heard a human voice, never mind a human touch.

It wasn't always like this. I wasn't always locked up and dangerous.

After that night, the world rejoiced as expected. Parties, galas, major events, holidays created in my name, holidays created in the name of victory. The praises and glory and admiration and occasional love profession. This grew old quickly; I feel like the fire that burned inside me for so long, telling me my destiny and future, has died away. I was looked up to as an idol, a stoic hero, and I molded myself to their expectation. Closing my heart and mind, letting myself become the instrument upon which they strung out songs of joy. In a way, it was almost like the war that preceded it. Except the war I could fight. This, I could not.

It was such a night, after several rounds of jolly-making that I paused and pondered the purpose of such frivolities. It was not as if they served much of a purpose any more. There was only so much joy and happiness one person could have. After that, it was monotony. I no longer saw the point of forcing myself into suits and robes to speak and cheer and laugh with people I didn't care about.

I left the lady, she must have been the third that night, on the loveseat where we had momentarily been in love, and set on a brisk walk on the premises of the building, hoping the cool night air would clear my hot muddled head.

I place a hand over where my scar used to be. It was no longer there; hadn't been there since that night. Yet I touch it and every time I do, I revel in the smooth skin I find. Wiped out, my nemesis had been, erasing the mark that he had ever existed.

A hand closed over my throat and I was about to scream when the silky voice of my capturer whispered: "Scared, Potter?"

And suddenly, there was that fire again. In my heart, passion. In my eyes, desire. In that moment, in the courtyard, I was vulnerable again. My walls crashed down. I was still an instrument, yes, but this time played to a passionate tune that awoke the shreds of human left within me.

After that, we met each other. Secretly, of course. In his flat or mine, we were crazy. His eyes always shone with burning mercury. The times we were together were frantic, fast, fantastically mind-blowing. It was our little secret. The only person who could get a rise out of me, to open my heart up, to hold my emotions in his hands and play with them was mine. It was exhilarating.

I had always been the nice guy. In third year, I let Cho go. In sixth, I let Ginny go. I couldn't keep someone on the line; break their heart; if I didn't feel that way about them. I thought what I did was right. That I would be rewarded in the end for freeing us all.

That was not the case.

A few months later, he ousted me. We were having an argument, as per usual, when he threatened my life in anger. I blew up. No one dared to do such a thing. Cross-eyed and furious, I ended his life. His burning eyes became mine. His high-pitched laugh became mine. I became him too, in many ways. He forever haunts me, in the part of my mind that is sane, the part that still knows love.

And I love him still, I do. Just in my own way. Just in my mind, my caged mind.

Now, the only words I know how to write, the only words I can hear, in the voice of my lover:

I am not crazy.

**A/N**: Going through a darker time in my own life, so I closed my eyes and wrote this in one sitting. Uneditted, but I can feel the raw emotion better.


End file.
